The Beginning
by wywrite
Summary: Oneshot. Snape has to make a choice.


_I do not own this setting or these characters, and I am not making money from this._

**The Beginning**

The strange, bright, misty whiteness of the place was disorienting; it almost made him feel dizzy. Some time ago (how long?) he had sat up, but he hadn't moved from the place he had awoken. There was nowhere particular to go.

The space around him shifted slightly, as it had been doing since he woke up here. The whiteness would color slightly, draw in towards him, recede, and for a moment he would feel that perhaps he was somewhere familiar, but he couldn't say where. His dungeons, the only place he felt secure? Or…the memories rising faintly…his nursery from the time he was very young? The Great Hall, the charmed ceiling reflecting the racing clouds of spring?

This time, however, the space took on almost definite proportions, and he struggled for a moment to think what it reminded him of. Ah. King's Cross Station? What odd meaning did that have for him? He couldn't think of anything specific.

He felt extraordinarily peaceful here. He lay back down (the ground was firm, but level), and waited for his surroundings to shift again, but they seemed to have reached a place of rest. He fell asleep.

He reawoke to voices. He stood up hastily and looked towards their source. He could see two figures sitting together, apparently conversing. They were close enough that he should have been able to make out their features, but his eyes wouldn't focus properly. He blinked, and walked towards them, but the fuzziness around them remained and he didn't seem to be getting any closer. He kept walking until it was evident that he couldn't reach them. Puzzled, he sat down again, turned towards them. He could hear snatches of their conversation.

"_What does this place remind you of…"_

"_I think, if you wish, you will be able to, shall we say, take a train…"_

"_There is no help possible…"_

"_Is this all in my head…"_

"_Of course, but that does not mean it is not real…"_

There was silence again.

He waited.

A figure walked towards him through the bright air, growing closer and sharper. Gasping, he recognized Dumbledore, whose long white beard flowed over his robes. The old Headmaster was regarding him with a bemused look.

"I am surprised to see you here, Severus. I thought you had gone ahead."

"Ahead?"

Dumbledore's face was calm, but sadness glinted in his eyes, much different from the lively twinkle that he had wielded as a weapon in life. "I didn't think there was anything to hold you to life. You have suffered greatly there. Surely you look forward to a true rest."

"But…" Snape's mind began to turn restlessly, "but I never lived, really. Am I to give up my chance at life?" His eyes narrowed. "Do I even have a choice?"

Dumbledore smiled quietly. "If you are here, you have a choice."

"Do _you_ have a choice?" Snape demanded.

"My choice was made before death, Severus. Here I am only a messenger of sorts."

Snape nodded. Then, bitterly, he said, "I wish to know of my choices, then. But can I trust you? You were ever the deceiver."

Dumbledore turned away, then back again. There was no anger in his voice when he said, "I was. I thought it was better. I was a general, manipulating my troops. I was a fool.

"If you go ahead, you will find comfort and love. I cannot see what will await you if you return, but I will guess for you, if wish to hear my guesses."

Snape snorted softly. Guesses. At least he knew a guess might not reflect the truth.

"Guess for me, old man," he sneered.

Dumbledore flinched slightly, but his voice was steady. "If you return, your body will be broken. You will be in pain for a long time; I do not know if you will ever fully heal. Moreover, many people will distrust you, call for your life, call for your imprisonment."

"These are my choices?" Snape muttered. "That is no choice."

Dumbledore looked up at him, surprised. "Oh, those are choices, and the second only a guess. Also…" he paused, "also, if you return, you may find…love."

"Love?" queried Snape shortly, "I lost the only woman I loved. I have no remaining friends. Who would love me? I am a wretched sort of man."

A twinkle gleamed in Dumbledore's eyes, but it was kinder than Snape remembered from life.

"You have hardly had a chance, Severus, to be the sort of man you could be," he said cheerfully, the illusion of paleness and distance falling from him, "Of course, the walls you have built won't fall in a day."

"You are speaking as though my choice is already decided," Snape said with a sour grimace, "and it doesn't sound like the one I wish to choose."

"I think you _have_ made a choice, Severus, whether you admit it or not."

The peace surrounding the younger man evaporated, and he snapped, "You are presuming again, just as you always did when you were alive. I can damn well make my own decision about this."

"What is your decision then?" replied Dumbledore.

Snape shifted his weight. He didn't want to go back, he didn't. But a great envy sprang up in him of those who had a _chance_ to…he didn't know what. He had thrown away his chance when he was still a child.

He looked up at the old wizard and saw no agenda shadowed in his eyes. He glared at him. "You're right," he gritted, "I have made a choice. I'm going back."

And the whiteness began to dim to gray, and then all was black.

_A/N: I mean this only to be one scene, but it could serve as a jumping-off point for a number of different story ideas. I don't think I'm particularly good at reproducing the characters (it doesn't help that I'm in the midst of moving and all my books are packed away in a box somewhere), but I think either Snape or Dumbledore acting out of character is somewhat acceptable in this situation, which I imagine would be quite disorienting. Any thoughts?_


End file.
